


Change is Good

by autoeuphoric (FreezingRayne)



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M, Morning After, Threesome, koujaku's fancy love-nest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2321270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingRayne/pseuds/autoeuphoric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mizuki can’t help smiling up at the ceiling, despite the pounding in his head and the awkwardness that is sure to result from waking up wrapped around two of his friends, who usually sleep wrapped around each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change is Good

**Author's Note:**

> I'm of the opinion that there definitely isn't enough Aoba/Koujaku/Mizuki. This needs to be rectified.

Mizuki’s apartment is icy on winter days. The furnace barely works half the time, and heating is so expensive that he’s pretty much resigned himself to freezing his balls off every morning.

This particular morning is different. He’s bleary and limp, but also warm all the way through. Because, he realizes as he scrapes together the sake-drenched memories of the night before, he is not _in_ his apartment. This is not his futon he’s lying on. He drifts further toward consciousness and finds he can divide the heat source into two separate entities, one on either side. 

One of them is buried so far under the blankets that only the top of its head is visible, but it’s a head that Mizuki would recognize anywhere. A tangled blue mass of hair, shorter than it used to be but still wild. Mizuki remembers how soft it had been and how good it had felt against the inside of his thighs when—

_Oh, fuck._

Are they naked?

Yes, they are naked. All three of them.

Can he locate his pants without waking either of them up? Aoba is pressed up against him like a sleepy sloth, and Koujaku has flung himself out across half the futon, arms outstretched, staking territory. To get off at the foot of the bed would mean pulling off the blankets, and that would most definitely wake them up.

_Ah, well._

He resigns himself to the softness of Koujaku’s fancy sheets and the warmth of their bodies. The ceiling is knotted wood and he can’t help smiling up at it, despite the pounding in his head and the awkwardness that is sure to result from waking up wrapped around two of his friends, who usually sleep wrapped around each other. 

Mizuki can’t quite remember when they had decided to leave the bar, or whose idea it had been. He _does_ have a very vivid sense-memory of lips on his neck and warm hands stroking down his back and ribs. He remembers digging his heels into the mattress as he arched up, and someone’s fingers—

He releases a soft, groaning breath he had not realized he was holding, triggering movement to his right. An impressive case of morning wood is dragged across his thigh as its owner comes slowly awake. A chin rests on Mizuki’s shoulder, and Koujaku says, “You okay?”

“Hah. Yes. Though I’d appreciate coffee.”

Koujaku’s laugh is heavy with sleep and his voice is liquor-dry. His stubble scritches against Mizuki’s arm and he says, “Right away, your majesty.”

He slides out from beneath the blankets, and Mizuki manages to roll himself over fast enough to catch a glimpse of broad shoulders, a tight ass, and skin that’s vibrant with pink blossoms and dark, miasmic swirls, before Koujaku pulls a robe up and belts it around his waist. He pads out into the hallway.

“He’s a morning person,” Aoba says, sounding more awake than his position with his head buried beneath the covers might suggest. “It’s so annoying.”

Mizuki chuckles. He wonders if he should get up and offer to help with the coffee, but then Aoba is pushing back the sheet, blinking and pulling hair from where it has stuck in the corners of his mouth. His eyes are sleep-swollen and slightly bloodshot, cheek dented from where he’d slept pressed against an embroidered pillow. He looks at Mizuki, red staining his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. 

That’s right. Aoba always drinks less than Mizuki and Koujaku do. He’d probably been considerably more sober for whatever had happened the night before.

A swirl of memories hits Mizuki and he grins. “The neighbors must hate you guys. You know, you moan like a pornstar.”

Aoba’s blush deepens, spreading all the way to his ears. Mizuki wants to lean in and lick one, but he restrains himself. Flirting is one thing; he’s not sure how much touching is allowed now that it’s the morning after.

Aoba scowls and rubs at one of his eyes with the palm of his hand. “I do not.” He winces, like his head hurts.

Mizuki’s heart gives one very hard thump. “Is it—.”

Aoba’s eyes widen. “No, no—it’s not Scrap. Just a hangover.”

“Yeah.” Mizuki tries to shake off the cold flush that has worked its way across his arms and up his neck. “Of course. Me too.”

“Does it hurt?” Aoba asks after a few minutes of not-too-awkward silence, and Mizuki realizes that he has pressed two unconscious fingers to the tag across his throat. It’s harmless now that Morphine is gone, but it’s still there every time he looks in the mirror, pink and black and ugly.

“No,” he says quietly. “I feel fine.”

“Well, you look like hell.”

Koujaku is back, a mug in each hand, another pressed between his forearm and chest. “Mizuki, I didn’t know how you take your coffee—.”

“Black is fine.”

Just inhaling the steam makes Mizuki feel more awake. He presses the mug against the distant throb of pain in his forehead, as Koujaku gives Aoba his own coffee. The cup he keeps for himself is considerably lighter in color than the other two. Mizuki finds that charming and he’s not quite sure why.

“Good morning,” Koujaku says to Aoba, before either of them can take a sip. He kisses him, slow and deep and familiar. Aoba groans and pulls back.

“Gah! Your breath is terrible.”

Koujaku kisses him again on the corner of the mouth. “And you’re so minty fresh?” He is exactly how Mizuki would have imagined him to be after sex—languorous and satisfied, with just a hint of a swagger. He sees Mizuki watching him and grins. “You want a kiss too?”

“So _I_ can experience your breath?”

Koujaku grins and leans across Aoba. His breath _is_ pretty bad, but his lips are soft and he kisses with the lazy surety that Mizuki remembers from last night. At least, parts of him remember.

“Koujaku, you’re spilling your coffee on me.”

“Hmm?” Koujaku puts his mug down and laps at the streak of milky brown on Aoba’s chest. “Kou-Koujaku!” Aoba gasps and pushes at his head. Koujaku’s hand moves in a slow sweep down Aoba’s side. It’s a playful, possessive gesture, Koujaku letting Aoba know that no matter what had happened the night before, he’s still the one he loves.

That’s fine with Mizuki. He has no desire to come between them. Well, apart from in the literal sense. He snorts, unable to suppress the giggles that well up. Koujaku leaves off licking Aoba for long enough to look his way in mild consternation.

Mizuki sips his coffee which is, unsurprisingly, excellent. Koujaku’s got good taste in more than just liquor and lovers. “Sorry. It’s possible I’m still a little drunk.”

“You nwere hitting it pretty hard last night.” Koujaku quirks an eyebrow to make sure the double entendre conveys.

Mizuki covers his smile with his cup. “I don’t remember too much. At least, not details.”

Aoba flushes again and Koujaku’s lips twitch. “Well…you watched for awhile, and then Aoba—.”

Aoba pushes the sheets down. “If you’re going to talk about it, I’m taking a shower.” He shoves at Koujaku’s shoulder. “Move it, hippo.” He appears to realize he’s naked, but he’s got a full cup of coffee in one hand and nothing to cover himself with. He’s pale, and skinnier than Mizuki would have expected from seeing him dressed. But it’s not like Mizuki himself is the picture of balanced nutrition after months spent in a hospital bed.

Koujaku’s smile doesn't waver as Aoba retreats to the bathroom, but it does change, softening into something distant and fond.

“You look happy,” Mizuki says.

Koujaku dips his head sheepishly, hiding behind his bangs. “I am happy. Happier than I probably deserve.” Shade falls across his face from where the morning light momentarily fades from the wide window. He recovers himself and rotates a shoulder, a joint cracking. “Shit. I’m getting too old for this.”

“I thought you did alright. For an old man.”

They look at each other, and then they’re both laughing so hard Mizuki has to put his coffee down or risk spilling on the sheets. He flops back against the cushions and brushes his fingers through his tangled hair. “ _Fuck._ Who’s idea was that?”

Koujaku attempts to take a sip of coffee and has to hold off to keep chuckling. “Mine. I was mostly joking—I didn’t expect Aoba to be into it. I never would have thought he’d want a threesome.”

“It’s weird to see him so timid,” Mizuki muses—thinking of the blushing and the quick retreat. “Aoba’s usually pretty forthright.”

Koujaku spreads his hands, scars flashing like little shiny eyes. “Not about stuff like this.” He runs his fingers around the rim of his mug, glancing briefly out the window at the bare cherry trees trembling in the breeze. “Thank you for not blaming him,” he says, all laughter gone from his voice. “Because I know he blames himself.”

Mizuki remembers the blind, blank surety of Morphine’s control, the agony of Aoba’s invasion and the very conscious realization that he was going insane. Then waking up in the hospital with tubes in every orifice and barely enough motor function to wriggle his toes.

“I know it wasn’t his fault. It was Toue’s and Ryuuhou’s. And the two of you took care of them, and the whole Oval Tower.”

“We didn’t have anything to do with that. We didn’t even see Toue.” He makes no mention of Ryuuhou, and Mizuki doesn’t ask him to elaborate. He can feel the mood shifting, and he desperately wants to go back to two minutes before, when they were laughing.

Koujaku seems to be of the same mind; he’s pulling himself together with a visible effort. “So…you feel okay?”

Mizuki gets to work on his coffee before it goes cold. “You mean generally, or about waking up in bed with two of my best friends?”

Koujaku laughs. “That, and—.” He points to the side of his head.

“Right. Well, no nightmares.” That is pretty remarkable, now that he thinks on it. It’s been a long time since his sleep has been dreamless. “I guess the solution is getting blackout drunk and having sex with at least two other people.” His lips quirk. “Although that might be a hard lifestyle to maintain.”

“Hey, if it helps you relax.”

“Hmm…” Mizuki closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. He senses the precise moment the atmosphere changes again, thickening, and he opens his eyes to find Koujaku beside him. His hair is shaggy out of his ponytail, mane-like, a compliment to the tiger-stripes of his tattoos.

“Are you going to help me relax?” Mizuki asks, around a catch in his throat. Koujaku smells like tobacco smoke and the lingering spice of cologne.

He smirks. “Maybe. I remember you liked this.” He leans in and kisses the soft spot below Mizuki’s ear with slow, lingering movements of his lips.

“I think everyone likes that,” Mizuki says, but that doesn’t stop the shivers. He laces his fingers in Koujaku’s hair and pulls him up to kiss him on the mouth. They have to pull apart quickly, though, because they start laughing again.

“I can’t believe that happened.”

“Full of regret?”

Mizuki grins. “Not at all. I’d be a dirty liar if I told you I’ve never thought about it before.” Koujaku and Aoba are both gorgeous men, even if before a few months ago one had only dated women and the other had not dated anyone at all. “Just, I don’t want this to change things.”

Mizuki expects flippancy, but Koujaku surprises him by pulling back. His brows draw in. “It’s a little late for that.”

Muzuki feels the ghostly pain of the needle at his throat, and knows he’s right.

“Change doesn’t always have to be bad, though,” Koujaku adds with a wry twist to his mouth.

Mizuki smiles. “Very sage-like.”

“Very. Now, should we eat breakfast? I don’t have much, but we could find something to throw together.” He tips his head to the side. “We should probably wait for Aoba, though. He’s a much better cook than I am.”

“I believe that.”

Koujaku lets out an affronted huff and drinks more coffee. “We could always go in there and hurry him along. He tends to space out while he’s washing his—hey, wait, hold on—!”

“Hmm?” Mizuki looks round from where he’s halfway to the bathroom door. “Oh, sorry, I thought we were ambushing Aoba.”

“I was joking!”

Mizuki hesitates with his hand on the door. “You should probably stop making jokes, Koujaku,” he says breezily. “You never know when people will take you seriously.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write the actual sex, but threesomes are awfully difficult to choreograph. Someday!
> 
> I'm Autoeuphoric on tumblr, btw.


End file.
